


Sacramentum

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, Multi, What Was I Thinking?, why do people let me write this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a lover of libery, and nothing will prevent him from being at the heart of the largest slave rebellion in the history of Lutetia. He and his army will face the whole of the empire's forces, and they will fight to the last man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Venturis Ventis

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so where do I begin with this behemoth of an idea? (answer : binge-watching Spartacus for a fortnight straight)
> 
> I know very, very little of Roman customs and life, so at times it'll be more Greek-inspired, sometimes more Persian, bear with me, don't call me out, thanks <3 I put the whole story in Lutetia (roman-era Paris) and sorry but most of the names don't sound roman AT ALL. It's just a fic, after all...
> 
> And please, please enjoy reading, it's going to be a monster!

From the shadows of the trees, the man walked towards the city; lithe and delicate as a maid, blonde hair and eyes as blue as the oceans, you could have mistaken him for one of the dancing boys that plyed their trade in the better beer gardens frequented by the praetors and the senators of Lutetia.

But this was no courtisan, his eyes lacked the softness and the come-hither. Instead they were filled with disdain and hatred of everything they saw of the sprawling city. From all parts of the great empire came slaves and wares, and it all centrered around the arena's great presence : everything was decided between those stone walls, not in the senate. He knew that well, he'd witnessed it too often in the past...

His stomach growled as the smell of the food stalls reached him. That was the one thing that he had missed during his travels far from Lutetia or the rest of the romanised world, even as he scolded himself for enjoying and even looking forward to his meal.

Pastry paied for, Enjolras went to sit in the shade of a small wall, far away from the blazing heat of the summer sun. No-one paused to look at him, no-one even gave him a second glance (unless you counted those who would gladley take such a beauty to their bed) as he fitted perfectly in. Lutetia was his birthplace, and the starting point of the changes his soul burned for. Soon the light started to fade and with it the heat; of course he could save a bit of the money he had brought by sleeping outside, but he was no stranger to the dangers that lurked inside a city's walls once night fell. And being killed or just robbed of the small amount he had would go nowhere towards helping him or the insane goal he was bringing with him.

But walking towards a part of the area of the city where he remembered a good inn, he heard the pitiful sounds of a young girl screaming for help from her _domina_ , imploring her to intercede, to forgive. But this was also something Enjolras had seen too often. The domina wouldn't lift a hand to help a simple slave, no matter how trivial the transgression. Soon enough a lanky, underfed, bare-footed waif was dragged by her collar by the household's head of slaves, like a mangy dog.

She was screaming in fear, a girl of maybe 13 years old, tied to a whipping post in the middle of the street. He couldn't help but feel his back twinge in sympathy. He too had felt the sting of the lash during his life as a slave, and he had rebelled against every single hit. But the young girl had nothing in her to rebel and as the whip hit her bared back, her screams echoed and then disappeared into whimpers. Then nothing, as she passed out from the sheer terror and pain.

And all this had been done in a cold and methodical indifference. The slaves had averted their eyes out of sympathy or fear. The free men and women had either completely ignored the sight, or they were still high on the pained screams that had echoed through the square. He had forced himself to stay silent, to not run straight to her defense and cut down her torturers himself. How could a society call itself civilised and not bat an eyelid at such horrors?

*

Later that evening, Enjolras sat in the relative cool of his rented room, eyes burning like the candle flickering in the window. He had to move fast, he knew that, he _wanted_  to move fast, but he had to face reality : the discontented and the downtrodden massed in all Lutetia weren't going to stand up on the word of one single, runaway slave. He couldn't ignite the fire by himself, he needed an army, he needed his words to be heard by everyone and everywhere. And he needed to find where to start, exactly.


	2. Praemia virtutis honores

The rose-infused water filled the entirety of the ritual chamber, where the family was gathered like every morning for the daily worship. It wouldn't be a grand affair like in some homes, this family was only composed of Fantine, her daughter and the small handful of household servants. Heads covered with a shawl, the frankensense billowing around them, mother and daughter offered wine and honey to the gods, and prayed for health, wealth and happiness.  
Side by side, no-one could have mistaken them for anything other than related : the same softness to their eyes and features, the same kindess in their smiles, the same light spattering of sun-kissed freckles on their cheeks. And once the _adoratio_ was over, they went to attend to their days work. As it was, two noble ladies of Lutetia didn't have work as was commonly imagined. But Fantine hadn't been raised as a simple coddled jewel to be admired and protected against life itself. And she refused to let her daughter's quick mind be dampened by disuse, so she had, as _materfamilias_ turned over one of the Felix family's estates to Euphrasie, and had been schooling her daughter in the managment of the _domus_.  
It had been with tremendous pride that Eurphrasie had proven time and time again that she had not only her mother's beauty, but that her intelligence was on par with with any of the nobles and praetors who had courted her since she had reached the acceptable age.

Fantine trusted few of her daughter's would-be seducers; her own experience with men and suitors hadn't been the best and of that regreful moment, only Euphrasie was a ray of sunshine. She had prayed to Hestia each and everyday in thanks for having such a light in her life, and if in the darkness of the chambers she prayed to another, darker goddess to protect Euphrasie, to wreak vengence upon all who would seek to harm her, well...only the gods would know and judge.  
And as a slave came to annonce that someone was waiting for her in the the /atrium/ on urgent business. And these days, "urgent business" seemed to always revolve around Euphrasie's hand, and this time again her heart rose in her throat as she saw who exactly was standing in her home. 

Thenardier.

Again.

With his oily smile and the huge golden rings and necklaces that clanked as he walked, and the entire aura of self-satisfaction that seemed to permeate every single word or look that he gave. But she wasn't about to let her distate be too visible, and gave a slight smile as she held out her hand.

\- What a surprise. You'll have to excuse me, if you had sent word of your visit, I'd have prepared something to properly greet you. 

\- Would that your daughter have brought the wine, it would have been a feast for the eyes.

\- I'm afraid she won't be here for a while, she's gone to visit relatives in the south. 

\- Ah. A shame.

The intense leering in his voice could have been enough to make her vomit, but instead she sent for water and smiled.

\- And your wife, how is she?

-Oh, she does as well she can. What with being fat and ugly, of course, but her heart is pure as snow.

\- I'm certain she would be thrilled to hear how much you value her. 

Taking the gobelet of water from Fantine's hand, Thenardier smiled again, a repulsive sight with the rotten teeth he hadn't yet pulled. And his fingers brushed against hers, staying on her hand far longer than would be considered proper. 

\- I value her, of course. As I value all that belongs to me as long as it actually has value.

\- Which is why you come courting my Euphrasie. Because your wife has lost her value to you.

Her voice had grown cold and she quite deliberatly snatched her hand out of his, the clammyness still stuck to her skin. 

\- I think you should leave, now. I have matters to attend to and I would like to finish them before long. Gratitude for taking the time to visit, and I hope we shall see you soon.

* 

Euphrasie was waiting in one of the small rooms that bordered the garden, her hands deftly working on her weaving.

\- That was an lie, mother. I certainly have not gone to the south.

\- It was a minor lie, and one that no-one would find fault in. Unless you wish to marry him?

\- Mother! 

\- You really believe I would let you leave here with someone like that? I love you, my dearest heart. And you will marry for love or you will not marry. There are enough broken-hearted people in this world, I do not wish for you to join them. So tell me about him.

Fantine had to laugh at the shocked look her daughter gave her. 

\- I'm not so blind, my dear. I've seen the looks and the blushes, and he seems like a nice person. Is he a nice person? 

\- He is...I truely believe it. And in all this time, never has he once even spoken of anything other than friendship and trust. 

\- Should we invite him to eat with us, one day? I would love to finally meet him.

Her daughter's smile could have lit up the room.


	3. Dis manibus sacrum

The same hot morning that saw Enjolras slip out of his room to begin a search, also saw a lover's struggle to awaken, wrapped up in his mistresses sheets.

It was late morning, but after a night such as the one he'd had, Courfeyrac had almost but the vaguest amount of energy. He wasn't expected at the barracks before noontide and had absolutely no intention of moving : the sheets were almost too warm against his bare skin, but the trickle of cool air coming from the riverside made everything much too heavenly to leave. Especially when he still had the weight of his evening's delight against him.

No, wait... Lifting his head, he realised that she was no longer there. It was the heat, that was the only reason he could imagine that would make such a lovely lady leave his side. Even her bodyslave had disappeared, leaving him completely alone in the bedroom.

His stomach brought him back to more pressing matters and he rose to dress, leaving his praetorian guard cloak where it had fallen on the floor, along with his sword. No need to bring such things to the table, after all. She was standing with her back to him, feeding the fish that lived in the _atrium_ 's waterbasin. He strode closer, going to stroke her back, but she shivered at his arrival and turned.

And when she did, he noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

\- What...have you been crying...? Why? Was I really that bad last night?

But his attempt at a joke went nowhere, and she just turned back to the basin, avoiding his eyes.

\- I'm sorry...

\- Sorry...? What for? Septima, whatever is the matter?

He went to her again, but before he'd even moved, he felt the tickle of a sword between his shoulderblades. It was only due to his military training that Courfeyrac didn't move a muscle and waited. He knew this day would come, no matter what he had hoped, and now he was going to be reminded how adultery was considered in the roman world. And he wouldn't even be the one to be punished the most harshly. And he'd been warned about this. He'd had the risks drummed into his mind so often, and yet he'd simply gone with his lust.

He was an idiot. And he only had himself to blame.

The sword and it's owner finally came around to face him, and it was with no surprise that he faced his commander. He had no words, no easy smile and silver tongue to get himself out of this situation, and whatever was going to happen to him it wouldn't be pleasant. And indeed, before he could imagine how this would continue, he was backhanded with such ferocity that he fell to the ground with a cry. His nose had definately been broken and he would have a huge black eye for days to come. And it didn't stop there as he was pulled to his feet by the praetors and hit again, and again.

Dimly, somewhere behind the pain and the flashing lights in his vision, Courfeyrac could hear screaming - Septima's voice - and her husband ordering her to shut up or he would do the same to her. Courfeyrac tried to stand, to shield her from his commander, but the last blow threw him out of the conscious world.

*

When he woke up, the nearly passed out again from the pain in his face and ribs. He knew where he was, slunk in a corner of the jail cell where he'd brought criminals in the past. Trying to move, he ground his teeth and just about managed to get into a sitting position without fainting once again. The pain was horrendous, but the sound of feet in the corridor brought him out of his almost-trance and he closed his eyes against the light that shone into the cell.

He would have tried a glib word, but his commander's acid voice cut first.

\- You know what the worst thing is, Courfeyrac?

\- I've lost a tooth?

His gods-damned mouth could not shut up for once, but it only earned him a contemptuous look, nothing else.

\- The worst thing is that I'm not even disappointed. I knew this would happen. You don't belong in Lutetia with the decent population, you're hardly even a civilised person. You're nothing but a half-breed, and I shamed the praetorian order by allowing such a dog as yourself into our brotherhood.

\- You fucker...!

\- You are a dog! And you'll learn your place!

Courfeyrac could hardly restrain his noise of pure fury at the insults. He would accept any punishment, but this...! After all he had done...! 

\- Jupiter's cock, I saved your life!

\- _And you fucked my wife_! We're even! So make your peace with whatever heathen gods you worship, because in two weeks, you'll be mining salt in Dalmacia. And I hope you don't die before every last one of the guards has fucked you as well.

And with that, the commander disappeared, leaving Courfeyrac in darkness.


	4. Ex umbra in solem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to go breaking a few hearts and spilling a few feels!

The water merchants had rarely such a bountiful trade as the one they were plying at this time; every citizen was parched and covered in sweat and dust, seeking water wherever it could be found. The summer threatened to be the warmest in many years, but that couldn't stop the inhabitants of Lutetia from going about their daily chores and occupations. Away from the almost stifling bustle of the hot streets, Marius sat nursing a goblet of watered-down wine; he was seated in a far corner of the tavern, any sun shielded by a screen of linen, one of the few advantages of being a young senator from a good family.   
He was nervous, waiting for his friend to arrive, uneasy at having such news to deliver. But when Combeferre arrived, dusty and tired from his day of work in the violent heat, Marius at once pushed another drink his way.   
\- Sit, sit and rest a while. You look terribly tired, my dear friend.   
\- The day is hot and illness is rampant among the children. So I have not much time, but I had to come. Please, tell me what you know. You've seen him? Spoken to him? Is he all right?   
\- His _legatus_ refuses any visits, and my influence is hardly a matter to anyone. Apologies. 

Marius finished his sentence with a sorrowful glance at Combeferre, but the _medicus_ gave a small smile, totally obscuring his fatigue for a moment at least.   
\- You've nothing to apologise for, Marius. You cannot be expected to keep him out of trouble all the time.   
\- It is worse this time, a truely grave matter. The _praetor_ has exiled his wife, or has killed her, depending on who you ask, and there is talk of sending Courfeyrac to the mines in Lycia. If they send him there, he will not return!   
\- Marius, calm yourself, please. I will speak to the _legatus_. I have no political standing, it will be a simple matter of human decency.   
\- That man has none.   
\- For Courfeyrac's sake, I hope you are wrong this time, Marius. 

* 

The praetorian guard were stationned outside the city, behind the solid walls of _castra praetoria_ , a dozen elite soldiers at the imposing doors at all times. By anyone's admission, this was a daunting sight, and Combeferre felt his knees weaken. But he didn't stop, he couldn't. Not when this could spell death and disaster for one of his oldest and dearest friends.   
He'd known Courfeyrac since they were children, running barefoot in the streets of Lutetia; many of their peers had shunned them for both being of mixed blood. Courfeyrac's mother had come from Sardinia, and Combeferre's was a Gaelic house-slave, so neither of them could pretend to be considered the perfect citizen. But just as Courfeyrac had found his way serving in the army before being promoted to the praetorian guard, Combeferre had been taken as a student of a highly respected _medicus_. And he had time and again come to the aid of his friend, healing up cuts and giving advice on how to avoid them in the future.   
But on this one subject, nothing had seemed to work, and Combeferre had dreaded the day he knew would come. The day his best friend would go too far. So with a confidence that he didn't truely feel, he stepped into the _castra praetoria_ and asked to see the _legatus_. He indeed hoped that his position as a medical man would be enough to grant him this one thing. 

As expected, Courfeyrac's commanding officer had little to no humanity in him. But at least he accepted that a doctor could look over the prisonner. So before anyone could order him out, Combeferre went over to the prison barracks. There wasn't much there, just a wooden cage large enough to contain a tenfold of men. And in the centre, sitting with his back towards everyone, was the person he'd come to find. Juste seeing the state of his back was enough to send chills down his spine, and he walked just a bit faster to reach him. Worry rose up like bile, but when he spoke, it was with a fury barely suppressed.   
\- What in the name of all the gods did you do that for?!   
Courfeyrac started, hitting his head against the roof. He knew that voice, and that tone, so well. It was the tone that said that Combeferre was very displeased and that some serious medical expertise was coming, usually with a great amount of scolding. And this time, it wouldn't be different. Except that this time, he wouldn't be coming back...  
\- 'Ferre, I...   
\- Do not presume to " 'Ferre, I" me! Can I have an explanation to your stupidity?   
\- She was so lovely, if you'd seen her...   
\- If I had seen her, I would have merely presented my respects and left her in peace. But that is your problem, you never think! And for that, you are headed to the mines! You are leaving Lutetia! You are leaving _me_! 

His voice cracked and he tightened his fingers around the bars of the wooden cage; his sight was failing and his heart was thumping in his ears, and even Courfeyrac's worried voice couldn't quite, quite reach his ears. The sun was hitting hard, he'd worked almost without rest since dawn, and the wine he'd shared with Marius had been the only true drink he'd had since the beginning of the day. And now things were taking their toll.   
Finally, Courfeyrac's voice got through to him and he could feel strong fingers holding onto his wrist.   
\- Jupiter's cock, 'Ferre!   
\- ...don't swear...I'm fine...   
\- And you, don't lie. Leave, get someone to do your work for you, please retire for the day and lie down with some water. Please, 'Ferre. But do not stay in the sun this way. 

He sighed and brushed Combeferre's hand with his thumb, softly.   
\- Your compassion will be the death of you, my friend. Please go and rest.   
\- I will come back. I swear on Apollo's holy fire that I shall find a way to help you.   
Courfeyrac smiled and nodded.   
\- And I believe you. But now you must leave, before the _legatus_ tires of your presence. But I shall wait for you. It's not as if I could go anywhere, anyway. 

* 

As Combeferre exited the gates of the compound, Courfeyrac finally put his head in his arms and choked back a desparing cry.


	5. Mala tempora currunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to make up for the fact that I won't be writing for about 2 or 3 weeks, I'm on vacation, then at my new job. So enjoy the bromos! :D

The morning was hardly breaking over Lutetia, but already the city was awake, all the smells wafting out; the tanneries, the slaughterhouses, the latrines were some of the less pleasent odors, but leaving those areas, the passer-by could find the vendors opening up their shops and their stalls. The smell of olive oil and rich perfume was almost heady, but at this time of early morning it was the bakeries and the cooked meat stalls that were getting the most attention.

Enjolras hadn't eaten a lot since his arrival a few days back, but his thriftyness was a matter of survival; he did as would any roman citizen, starting his days with a cup of water (or very watered-down wine when he could) and then some fowl and fruit when the sun was high. But this morning, he needed something to eat before attempting another round of the city. It was getting disheartening. He knew the situation, he'd been a slave long enough to know that not a single, solitary person could ever be content with that in their life. But he couldn't stand up and scream right now, it wasn't time. If he tried to make himself heard at the present moment, he would probably find himself on a pillar and whipped like the slave-girl he had seen on his very first day before being tortured to death.

The memory still burned in his mind like a thunderbolt and he had tried to discover who she was, but finding a malnourished brown-haired slavegirl in Lutetia was like finding a needle in a haystack. Even if he hated admitting defeat, he couldn't simply do that all day long. She would be the symbol of his fight, and he would find her before his purpose was over. Lost in his thoughts, he bought a loaf and wandered back towards the river, not noticing the look that the baker had thrown in his direction.

 

*

 

A blonde Gaul in Lutetia wasn't rare, on the contrary, Feuilly saw them every day while he went about his work. But this one...something was vaguely familiar, almost nostalgic about him. A name was dancing in the dark recesses of his memory but try as he might, he couldn't even remember one single detail. Except that he knew him.

Arms snaked around his waist and held him tight as soon as he came back into the back-room of the bakery. Stubble grazed his neck and he gave a little smile.

\- Did you miss me already?

\- I miss you every second you are not in my arms. If I had my way, I would never let you go.

\- But alas, that isn't the case. It would complicate a few things, you must admit. Come on, let me go you big bear, I need to get more bread to the customers.

\- And if I refuse?

Feuilly turned in the embrace and pecked Bahorel on the lips, smiling in contentment.

\- The gods have blessed me for a thousand years, allowing me to find one such as you.

And that was the truth. Feuilly didn't need to say anything else as went back towards the front of the shop, greeting the customers with his easy smile. He knew that the gods had indeed blessed him, or as Bahorel was fond of saying, they were paying him back for all the shit he had taken before they'd met.

 

*

 

Being from a poor family, he'd had enough luck to find an apprenticeship, friends of his parents who owed them for something, and when his parents had died, the baker had kept him on. Some years later, he had taken over the entire bakery.

And then, one winter morning even before he had risen to light the first ovens, a frantic knocking on the door had woken him up. With a curse, he was going to tell whoever to get themselves back to the fucking gutter, but checked himself. What kind of person would be around in this earliest of hours? Even those who hated and taunted him wouldn't do this, too fond of their comfort. And if it was a robber, he had nothing of any value, especially not coin.

The knocking continued, loud and insistant, and Feuilly finally got up, grabbed his tunic and went to open the door, shivering in the snowy air. He couldn't see anything, no-one was around, there wasn't a single lantern at his godsforsaken hour. And he was just about to close the door with a slam when a hand grabbed his leg. His heart missed a beat and he stumbled backwards, certain that he had allowed a thief or worse to enter his tiny universe.

Or maybe one of the others had finally decided to make his life worse than it already was?

But it was neither. A face he had never seen before stared up at him from the darkness and gave a cracked smile through bloody mashed lips.

\- ...water..?

That wasn't exactly what Feuilly had imagined to find on his doorstep at the earliest hours of the morning. He helped the stranger into the back-room of the bakery and went to get a goblet, trying not to stare at the amount of scars the stranger sported on his body.

\- I know it's coarse but a customer left me some beer as payment. And you look like you need more than some water.

\- Gratitude. And apologies for having startled you earlier. You weren't expecting anyone.

\- Not innocent company, at least. Unless you intend to taunt and jeer?

Feuilly's voice must have sounded tired, as tired as he felt, because the stranger put the gobelet down and held out his hand.

\- Upon my honour, never. You have shown me kindness where others would have ignored me. If you will have it, my friendship is yours eternally. Please, my name is Bahorel.

\- Feuilly. I'm pleased to meet you and apologies if I seemed abrupt. I have...problems, shall we say.

\- And you do not need to speak of them to me, although I could guess what some may be. The ways of the honest Lutetian citizen are no longer too much of a mystery to me now.

Feuilly did have to smile at the wry tone; here was another who felt the stinging tone of not quite belonging in the perfect society.

\- My hair is red. That is enough to warrant me the endless curiosity of the children and the hatred of their parents. I am a free man and yet they consider me a slave. Because of my hair. You should hear the names they call me...

\- I can understand, I've been called names all my life also. If you care to share stories?

Bahorel smiled, scratching his bearded chin and holding out his gobelet for Feuilly to refill, which the baker did willingly. It was of little use going back to bed, and the company was the most pleasant he'd had in the longest while.

\- My _lanista_ always thought me slow and stupid. He always said I would fall at the first fight and that having the biggest cock in the barracks meant nothing.

\- You were a gladiator then?

\- Only to erase some bad debts. The money was easy and bountiful if I was careful. And I wanted to prove my _lanista_ and the other gladiators wrong by being the richest fighter in all Nemausus.

\- What happened? Did you come into money?

\- Yes, and a lot of it. But like most things, it all disappeared. And that's why I come pleading at doors un the middle of the night like a frightened cur.

\- At least you found mine.

\- And I thank all the gods for that, roman or otherwise.

 

*

 

Neither of them knew how it happened or why. They had no idea they had actually moved until Feuilly found himself pinned against the wall, Bahorel's arm around his waist and his cock already hot and erect pressed up against Feuilly's back. No words, not a single one passed their lips, not even a question. It was hot, messy and rough. It was a moment of lust and desire, of entangled limbs and rapid, breathless groans.

Bahorel was wrangling every last moan and whimper from Feuilly's lips as he thrust harder and further and deeper, all the time telling himself that this was probably a bad idea. Not the act in itself. By Roman eyes, he had nothing to feel ashamed or bad about, the act in itself, the taking, the dominating was the only thing that mattered. He wouldn't be seen as less than a true, viril man.

It wasn't the first time either, he'd had many a willing man or woman since his travels from Nemausus.

No...it was a bad idea because those eyes were beautiful. They were beautiful and they made him want to stay. When Feuilly trembled at last and spent himself against the wall, Bahorel reached and turned him around, letting those eyes wash over him once more.

Jupiter's cock, the man was beautiful. Especially flushed and abandoned like he was now.

Softly, slowly they both lay together on the ground, hearing the first sounds of the city break the outside silence. And Feuilly smiled, daring to keep his hand near his lover's.

\- I'm late for making the bread. My customers will be going elsewhere today.

\- ...Apologies. I had not thought of how it would impact your day. I should leave.

\- Any idea where you will go now?

\- I had thought of going to my homeland. Back to Germania. I might still have family there, after all...

Feuilly nodded and smiled.

\- Yes, I'm sure they would be very happy to see you again. I wish you luck on your journey.

\- But then again, I might not. I might walk for weeks, months, only to find void and dust.

\- So what do you intend to do?

His tone was hesitant, and once again Bahorel felt his heart give a slight twinge. What was he doing? He knew the baker for less than two hours, so why had he almost taken a decision that would change his life.

\- I thought I might stay here a while. If you can recommend a good place to stay...?

 

*

 

Feuilly tore his mind back to the present, still in his lover's arms, as a knock pounded on the back door. Throwing a quizzical look at Bahorel, he went to open and gave a warm smile as he recognised the visitor.

\- Combeferre, my dear friend! A welcome sight!

\- Apologies for intruding upon your work... I would need a moment..

The _medicus_ had never seemed so agitated, so much so that Bahorel closed up the shop without hesitation and offered him a gobelet of pure wine.

\- Sit, sit and tell us what has you in this state.

\- I need to speak to someone. I need help.


	6. Amor omnibus idem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the lateness of the chapter! I went on holiday and started a new job, so...a lot of things at once.   
> Hopefully you'll forgive me, and R&R!

Combeferre had never looked so worried or agitated in their memory. Bahorel simply held onto his shoulders and pushed him onto the bed, while Feuilly went to get another of the very rare good amphoras of wine he kept for special occasions (festival of the gods be damned, _this_ was important). Combeferre was pale as a sheet, his hands were shaking, but more telling was the way his eyes were half veiled.

Bahorel never really knew what to do with people in such a position, he'd never really had to comfort anyone. But he did what he could, grasping Combeferre's shoulder a bit tighter.

\- That's it, like that. Breathe slowly, and drink this. Now tell us, what has happened to you my friend?

\- To me, nothing.

His voice was so subdued that there was no other possible reason, and Bahorel balled his fists.

\- To that idiot then? Is this about Courfeyrac?

Combeferre nodded, not able to speak at that moment, hands shaking around the gobelet. How could he speak, in truth, without his voice betraying him? But he had to realise where he was, with who he was, and that he had already betrayed himself so many times just by allowing himself to be ensnared by love.

\- I have lost him. He leaves for Lycia.

\- Lycia? Is the army summoned?

\- No.

\- Combeferre, please. Tell us what has happened and we will do what we can to help.

Feuilly smiled, trying to lighten his friend's mood, but he was terribly shaken. He knew about Combeferre's pining. He doubted there was a single soul in Lutetia who wasn't aware of the situation. Combeferre was madly, terribly and irrevocably in love with the grinning, devil-may-care soldier, and something bad had happened. Bahorel, making sure that the _medicus_ had finished the wine, and huffed as he crossed his scarred arms.

\- What has that bastard done this time?

\- Nothing. No, I lie. But he couldn't help himself, he never could!

\- What did he do? - The _legatus_...found him with his wife.

\- Hera's tits! So he's been condemned to the mines, yes? You told him, I know you did! You told him what would happen if he kept whoring around!

\- ...yes, I told him.

\- And what does he do? Grabs the first hole that comes along, and the fucking wrong one, at that!

Combeferre's eyes darkened dangerously.

\- Do not say things like that. He doesn't know how I feel.

\- And if he did, he wouldn't be in such a hurry to get fucking killed! Instead of slutting around and bedding other men's wives, he'd be with you!

\- Bahorel! I came here for help, not to be reminded of my abject stupidity!

Feuilly moved swiftly between them, knowing full well that anger and outrage could hardly benefit anything, and punched Bahorel on the shoulder.

\- Save your anger for when the solution is found. Please.

\- ...apologies. I do not mean to pour my anger onto you Combeferre. I am worried for him, that is all.

\- I know, as am I. And I do not know what we can do. I cannot simply walk over to the _legatus_ and pull Courfeyrac from his grip. It would be suicidal. But if I could. Oh, if only I could...

\- How long do you think he will survive in the mines?

They both looked at Feuilly, almost shocked at the brutality of the question, the certainty that the mines would be the final destination of their friend, but Feuilly simply returned their looks.

\- I... I might have the beginning of an idea, if he has not changed.

\- If who hasn't changed? Who are you talking about?

\- I know him. Well, I knew him. Briefly, when he was still Thenardier's bodyslave. And to hear him speak...it was like the gods themselves had descended into mortal form...

 

*

 

Combeferre had finally relaxed, falling asleep as soon as the oppresive heat started to wane as the night came. He hadn't even noticed that he was going and the two friends were speaking softly so as to not wake him up. Feuilly had come back from an errand in the street and his search had yielded only that a strikingly handsome Gaul had taken residence in one of the inns near the river. He was nearly certain that it was indeed he was thinking of.

\- So, it was him?

\- I do not know, he was not at the inn, so I left a message telling him a friend wanted to meet.

\- So you know him.

There was a hint, just a hint, of jealousy in Bahorel's voice. Feuilly could hear it clear as a bell.

\- Yes, I know him. Or I did. It was years ago and we only spent a small while together. I know what it is you are burning to ask, so ask it.

\- Were you lovers?

\- No, of course not.

\- But you'd have wanted to, didn't you?

The gladiator's voice was now tinted with amusement and he pulled Feuilly against him.

\- Oh I know you, rascal. So tell me about him, that I might discover who my rival is.

\- Never a rival, trust me. One would akin him to glorious Apollo, but Enjolras would be more of Diana, virginial and terrible, a statue in front of which all men must fall.

\- I am jealous, Feuilly. Jealous of a man, or is he a god?

\- A man. But god-born, I have no doubt. If there is anyone who could help us, I believe it to be him.

\- But will he? Why would he?

A moment of silence, a glance at the sleeping Combeferre, and a smile.

\- Because he is a good man.


	7. Fac fortia et patere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for the time being, NaNoWriMo is just around the corner and I'll need all the little grey cells I have.   
> (next time : we'll see some new faces :) )

They found Enjolras only little later that week, coming up upon him as he walked through the forum and they came back from the baths. In truth, they were not even searching for him at the moment, but as soon as Feuilly spied him, even for the briefest of seconds, his eyes widened and he ran up to the handsome Gaul, taking him by the arm. Enjolras' first instinct was to brush the arm away and demand an explanation, but only instants passed before he clasped Feuilly's arms in his hands.

\- By all the gods, a friendly face!

\- It has been too long, Enjolras. I would never have thought to see you again, I had no thought of you returning to Lutetia!

\- I have waited a while, until I could come back. I have a goal in mind and intend to see it through.

\- Have you stayed the same, then? Truely, after all this time?

\- I have not changed. The same desire runs deep in me, deeper, it has always held the place of blood. And you, have you stayed the same?

Feuilly gave a small, almost bitter smile.

\- Desire has been cooled by the necessities of life, I cannot deny. I have never forgotten what we spoke of, and what ideas were ours, but we have come for help, and not revolution. And apologies, my manners have disappeared on this morning, these are my friends. This is Bahorel, he works at the bakery with me, and here is Combeferre, medicus and another friend I am blessed to call mine.

Combeferre gave a small smile, and Bahorel merely shrugged, cocking his head.

\- Standing in the middle of the street is not the best place to have a conversation, follow me.

 

*

He led them to one of the smaller and less reputable ale-houses he knew, perhaps only to shock the young god into something more akin to humanity. But if that had been his intention, Enjolras disappointed him by simply sitting down without hesitation. Once again, this radiant young man, so young and yet with a smell of blood upon him, gave a smile.

\- Gratitude. I had yet to visit this place, but not yet found the occasion.

\- You are often in ill-reputed taverns, are you?

Feuilly nearly glared at Bahorel's tone, but Enjolras didn't seem to notice.

\- For what I must do, it is here that I can perhaps find my first companions, yes. But please, tell me what has you so nervous. Feuilly, tell me? What trouble has fallen upon you?

\- Not upon him. It is I who would require help, if help is willing.

Combeferre had sat forward, his grey eyes giving nothing except exhaustion and worry. Looking upon this man, upon whom all his hopes had become pinned, he had no idea how to feel. How could one person have the power to change anything? It seemed all so impossible...and yet he had hope.

So he simply held out his hand in a tiny gesture of supplication, and Enjolras took it into his. He had seen the look in the _medicus_ eyes time and time before : a depth of sorrow in which one could drown. One didn't need to be an augur to see that a heavy loss had been felt. A child, a sister, perhaps a lover had been taken by the _praetorian_ guards and the empire. Maybe a child like the one he had seen on his first day back... He had sworn a sun-oath and a moon-oath and he would stop at nothing before the people were free, but something here...something here was important.

He couldn't turn his back.

\- Tell me your story, my friend. I will help if I can.

The grey-eyed _medicus_ almost gave a start, lurching back into reality, his thoughts so very, very far away from the tavern at that moment.

\- His _legatus_ sent him away. Condemned him to the mines of Dalmacia for no true crime. And I mean to get him back, no matter the cost.

\- You are a _medicus_ , a respected man who will in no way fall victim to the life that plagues less fortunate people. And yet you speak of cost, to a former slave. You are either foolish, or very brave.

Combeferre shrugged, an admission in itself.

\- I find myself at a crossroads, a moral fault that has been long in the making. Slavery is wrong. Sending innocents to the whip and the mines is wrong. Selling men, women, and children as cattle is wrong. All of it, it is wrong! And if it has taken the dearest person in the world to me to be sacrificed to finally show me the truth, then I am only guilty of blindness and idleness!

A great silence fell upon the group but luckily the tavern was loud enough to cover what had been said. Enjolras didn't move. Combeferre had his hands clenched around the goblet, his eyes downcast.

\- Apologies for my outburst.

\- No apologies needed, my friend. You are not alone in believing this, we are growing in number. Slavery is an abomination and a crime against all men, and in my travels I have witnessed a land that does not succumb to such cruelty and it thrives, also. Why should we be forced to endure it, when others do not? Why should we submit to slavery, to their wanton cruelty, their illusions? The strong should not prey on the weak or the innocent, we must rise against them. We must demand our freedom from them. All men are created equal, so we shouldn't just accept this. And I require some help, if I'm to say the truth.

 

*

Bahorel and Feuilly had been silent this whole time; Feuilly listening to Enjolras and remembering what they had spoken of in the past; Bahorel trying not to stare like some love-sick and jealous bastard. But the truth of it was that he was. He was and it was gnawing at him. The very idea that someone else might have been close to his lover was intolerable to him, and by the way Feuilly hadn't taken his eyes off the orator in their midst, how could he not imagine something had happened?

But even with all that, even with the jealousy and the near-instinctive hate that was brewing in his heart, he was listening. Because the god-born golden child was speaking to their hearts, and damn his eyes, he was right.

\- What sort of help?

Enjolras looked at him, his eyes seemingly lighting up with more fervour than before.

\- We will find the miserable, the enslaved, the dispossessed. We will find them all, and we will see how many of them sing our song.

 


	8. Amor omnibus idem

In the smoke and laughter of the brothel, the whores and the dancing boys went from table to table, from customer to customer, and from tiny room to tiny room. The alcohol ran free, the food was of good sort, and the opium plentiful. Such things were the mark of a house of quality. As was the _medicus_ assigned to treat the prostitutes every _kalendes_. Very few of the common folk could hope to venture here, the prices were too steep; mostly the legatus and the senators could be seen taking pleasure in what the house had to offer.

Marius did not very much frequent houses such as these, no matter how clean it appeared, and only strayed for the sake of the two friends who almost seemed to live there, who were like twins in all but blood. And he needed to forget, even for a moment, even selfishly, what had befallen his dear friend Courfeyrac.

Lesgles was a wealthy merchant, or had been until recent times. At a young age, he had already been bereft of his hair, lamenting the strange ways that Fortuna smiled upon him. But after too many attempts at finding a remedy, he had simply shaved what remained of his scalp, saying pretence that it was part of his Numidian heritage. On the other side of the smoky room, listening to the heartbeat of a young prostitute, the young _medicus_ Joly was as Roman as they came. A cheery young man with striking green eyes, he would speak to all present about his experiments with blood-letting and leeches, how the weather, the food and the gods had a hand in his life. Truly it was a wonder that a medicus would be in such poor health himself, but his friends did all their best to support him.

Marius loved them, truly, and here he could forget the social barriers that his status created. He knew that as the grandson of an important senator, associating with slaves, whores, the plebs and people of that ilk would be ill-viewed. And being ill-viewed could be the end of anything he might wish to try, and the end of his union with Euphrasie... Just the thought of her name was enough to fill his belly with heat and his heart aflutter...

The noise of a goblet on the table shook him out of his daydream and he smiled as Lesgles sat in front of him, black eyes smoky with khôl.

\- Marius, dear friend, you are lost in your dreams again, are you not?

\- I was thinking of Euphrasie...

\- The light of your life and the pearl of your eyes, yes.

\- Do you mock me?

\- Apologies, I would never dare. I know too well the blessed feeling of love returned. Fortuna has at least done this for me.

\- And you are fortunate indeed. Musichetta is a fine woman, for the little I know of her.

Lesgles gave a small smile as he watched Joly speak and give advice to those around him.  It had been nothing more than a tryst at first: two normal men coming to visit Lutetia's finest wares, as anyone would and then they had met Musichetta. It had been as if Cupid himself had stuck them with a gilt arrow, both of them with the same. They had fallen for the delightful brown-haired, black-eyed and dark-skinned courtesan who smiled and laughed and ordered like she was a free woman in her own home. Lesgles and she had struck up an instant connection, due to their obvious similarities. Both from the same side of the known world, both down on their luck and both doing their best in spite of it. And if there had been any sort of jealousy towards Joly, they soon became three, and three they remained.

So when Marius spoke of his Euphrasie, which he time often did, none of them complained. Love returned was the true treasure of the world they lived in..

Joly and Musichetta came to sit with them in time, Joly's green eyes shining and Musichetta's lips stained red. Of course, Legles couldn't resist, as ever he could, and kissed them both, tasting the hot Ilyrian wine on their breath.

\- You did not even wait for me?

\- Apologies, Joly was most insistent. And who am I to resist such beautiful eyes?

\- He does have such beautiful eyes, does he not? I would lose myself in them for eternity.

Joly was smiling, the red upon his cheeks made more striking by his pale skin. Oh he was beautiful, they both were, and Lesgles would have stayed thus forever. But Marius was still there, and he did not wish to put his friend in such a position. So he raised his goblet and smiled.

\- And here we are, all together, as we always shall be. And in a month's time, our Marius is officially presented to his Euphrasie's mother. The union of two so perfect hearts!

\- You embarrass me, Lesgles. Musichetta smiled, her eyes shining in the half-light as her bracelets jangled together.

\- He would embarrass us all, if he could. But we are as impossible as he is and such is the reason that we are such good soul-mates. As are you and your beloved.

Marius cocked his head, feeling the power of her gaze. It was said that she was a diviner, an augur of some repute some said, a witch, other people said. Whatever the case may have been, he still was wary of such an offer.

\- Will that not cause offense to the gods?

\- My dear Marius, they have not voiced concern yet. And would it offend Venus so much that I ask for guidance? Young love is her domain and her delight! Come, we shall ask Amesemi for her protection!

 

*

 

Musichetta's small room in the brothel was in appearance like any other; a narrow bed, a latticed window to have light and air, a chest in which to store clothing and other possessions. And it was in here that she kept the charms and the lead tablets that had made her reputation. Marius would almost have backed away, but Lesgles was behind him, a smile upon his face.

\- Worried? It is only magic.

\- That is what worries me, in truth. It seems...dangerous.

\- Come now, 'Chetta has done her scrying for years, and Jupiter has not yet condemned her. Perhaps he too is awed by her!

Joly cocked his head and poked the Nubian playfully in the ribs.

\- Come, love. That is blasphemy...

\- I am still waiting for the thunderbolt, after all this time. It could be that my luck will hold out just a little longer?

\- If your luck was truly as bad as you say it is, then none of this would have ever been possible. I am certain Fortuna smiles on you more than on anyone else. She merely does so in strange ways.

Lesgles gave a small smile and cupped Joly's cheek to kiss him.

\- Gratitude for all you do for me. Where would I be without you, if not at the bottom of the Tiber?

\- Probably on your way home to start your fortunes afresh. Come, let us help 'Chetta and see what the gods have in store for our Marius.

\- Oh, I need not charms nor figurines to guess that. Marius and Euphrasie will live a long life with live and contentment and children to fill their greying days!

Musichetta smiled and lit the small oil-lamp on the table. Then she put the bronze tablets and the stylus on the small bed before taking a veil from her chest, wrapping the fabric around her head and hair until all that could be seen of her eyes were two pools of flickering light.

\- Let us begin, then.


	9. Lucida Sidera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Sorry for the erratic updates, I do my best! :)

Marius shivered involuntarily as he watched the fortune-teller pull out her tablets and her figurines. This was witchcraft, was it not? The gods condemned such hubris, such desire to read their plans. But he was apparently the only one who seemed worried. Musichetta was humming softly, taking feathers and burning incense over hot coals. Joly and Lesgles were smiling and passing comments about Musichetta's divining powers, and Marius let himself be lulled into a sense of security, finally working up the courage to ask the only question that burned in his mind.

\- What of me and Euphrasie? What do you see?

Lesgles rolled his eyes fondly at the question, but Musichetta bade him be quiet with a look.

\- Do not mock the questions. Each man and woman has the right to ask them.

\- I do not mock, beloved. I merely am not surprised in the slightest. Apologies, I shall not say another word.

\- Indeed you will not. I see a union and children to bless your twilight years. And...but...

Her voice faltered in the silence of her chambers, and the incense burned into nothingness. No-one spoke, all eyes were upon Musichetta and her still and vacant face. In the darkness she resembled nothing less than a carven ebony statue, her eyes lost in the vision.

With ease that spoke much, Joly went to take her arm, feeling at her pulse, and touching her face with tenderness, while Lesgles poured a goblet of wine and mixed it with a touch of honey. Seeing such harmony, Marius did not dare make a sound or a gesture lest he be unwelcome, timidity that was considered so unbecoming in a man in this society. But at least here, with them, he had nothing to be ashamed about.

\- How is she? Joly?

\- It happens sometimes, when her visions are too strong. She will be herself again as soon as she rests.

\- Will she be able to? In such a place?

Lesgles gave a small laugh and nodded.

\- You know she is called a witch, there are few who dare lie with her. Especially with us here. Do not worry about that. But what about you? Your fears must have been abated, your Euphrasie will be yours and yours only during this life. She has seen it.

\- And she is never wrong?

Joly smiled and gave him a pat on the arm.

\- Never, my friend. She has the fire of Apollo in her eyes and her heart. So believe every word she says.

\- Did she tell you your future? Apologies if you do not wish to speak of it.

\- She did not. I did not wish to know. We did not, Lesgles and I. If something were bad, I would probably worry too much about it, and Lesgles did not wish to see all the misfortune he promises himself will befall him.

\- I am loved by misfortune, she wishes to stay ever by me. Concordia and Fortuna love in strange ways...

\- I prefer 'Chetta's love...as I know you do. Now let us stay quiet and let her sleep.

\- No. I do not sleep, I must speak.

 

Musichetta had her eyes open and was staring straight at Marius, the candlelight flickering in her gaze. At once she got up and took the veil off her head, putting it neatly away in her chest with the rest of her diviner's tools.

\- I see evil. A great misfortune. It shall consume both of you, and I cannot see beyond the choice you will have to make.

\- But you said –

\- I know what I said, and I know what I saw. You shall be together, it shall be joyful but the storm comes, a choice shall be made, and I see fire and blood and... And I saw myself there with you both. I was standing atop a mountain, on the roof of a broken temple...and there was fire all around me. Fire and blood. Why am I there?

Her gaze turned towards both her lovers, and she held out her hands to them; at once they took hold of her, lending all the support they could. She shivered, they could feel it, and at once, they were worried. Joly caressed her cheek and smiled, softly.

\- My heart, please...

\- Why am I there? Why am I in their future and why can I not see you? I did not see you, either of you!

\- Beloved, you are tired, you need rest.

\- _I did not see you!_

She buried herself in Joly's arms, too shocked to even speak or to cry. Marius shook himself and held out the goblet of honey-wine, trying not to feel too out of place or worried. Lesgles took the goblet from him with a smile, and dribbled the liquid into Musichetta's mouth, all the time whispering words in the language of their country.

And at last she slept.

 

*

 

They took food in silence in the tavern as dawn approached, the noises and the dancing all but forgotten. Musichetta was still soundly asleep and none of them wished to wake her. And finally, Marius broke the silence as he reached out to the now-empty jug of beer.

\- What does it mean?

Neither of them answered his question for a long time, merely giving each-other glances full of worry and discomfort. It did nothing to alleviate Marius' general feeling of unhappiness since he had learnt of Courfeyrac's fate and he pushed away his stool.

\- I should leave you in peace, I have duties to attend to in the morning and sleep would be a welcome friend before I do.

\- Apologies Marius, this evening has been dulled by the Fates.

\- Please, do not apologise Lesgles, my friend. It was I who came to intrude upon your time, and I give thanks for your companionship. Such things may soon be in short supply.

The Numidian grasped Marius' arm, his khôl-dark eyes shining in sympathy.

\- Apologies once again. You came to us in a time of need?

\- I did, but the worry left my mind whilst I was with you. Now, I fear it shall never leave me in peace.

\- You must speak it, share it, so that the burden may be lightened. Joly and I have been poor friends this night, allow us to make amends.

Marius didn't know where to begin the tale, but by the end of it, he felt indeed as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart. He had spoken of it all, of Courfeyrac's departure to Dalmacia, of Combeferre's pain and how guilty he was feeling of being blessed with a love returned when dearest friends would be separated forever. And finally he looked up at them, feeling his tongue speak words that he had not formed in conscious thought.

\- Something will change soon, I can feel it. There is an illness here that needs curing, a despair that needs soothing... Can you not feel it also?

  


Joly smiled softly and put an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

\- Has 'Chetta's gift come to you, or have the words of the golden Gaul fallen upon your ears once to many?

\- The golden Gaul? Of whom do you speak?

\- You have not met him? Marius, you spoke with his words just a moment ago, as if speaking with his tongue. And you say you have never met the man?

\- Never. Is he a doomsayer?

Lesgles shook his head and pitched his voice lower, to fend against all unwelcome ears.

\- Nay, not at all. The stories about him are many among the _plebes_ but none have called him _augur_ yet. They say he is a former slave who escaped his _dominus_ and fled into far-away lands, returning with Apollo's fire in his heart and eyes. They say he speaks with the voice of the gods and whispers into man's very soul. He speaks words of revolution and revolt, of rising up against those who oppress the poor and the unfortunate. In truth, he speaks words that sing to me and I have long wished to set eyes upon this man, if only to prove that he exists and that he is not a conjuration of simple minds.

\- Maybe we should...

\- Not you, Marius. The grandson of a senator must not be seen in such a place, you have much to loose. We shall go, Joly and I, and if the Fates will it, we shall speak to you of what we have discovered.

Marius shook his head but he knew that his friend spoke but truth. He would wait.

  



	10. Ad Lucem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras can really put his foot in it sometimes.

The tavern was brightly-lit and noisy, as was any tavern of ill-repute in the worst areas of Lutetia; dancing boys and whores, cheap ale and foul-tasting food. Here, there were no senators or men of quality; here one would only find the outcast and the forgotten. Here, Enjolras would speak again this night. He had already sensed the despair and the underlying rage that simmered in the city, it wasn't hard. Lutetia was like a volcano, ready to explode at the slightest touch. And he would be that touch. He and the people he trusted to be around him.

Feuilly had come this evening, as he often did, after having left discreet messages to those people who would understand. Enjolras acknowledged him with a smile and a nod of his head, and was surprised to see Bahorel trailing behind the redhead. Although he was not surprised to see the dark look the ex-gladiator threw in his direction, and he way his arm tightened around Feuilly's shoulders. The man radiated jealousy from every part of him even as he sat down and pushed the goblets of ale towards his lover. At any other time, perhaps Enjolras could have found a semblance of humour, of irony or of anything else in Bahorel's actions. At any other time, because at this time all he had thought and will for was for his cause.

He was watching the crowd in the tavern, all speaking and drinking, all waiting to see when he would speak. They were looking at him, waiting in anticipation, the air was almost crackling with it. And from where he was sitting, Enjolras saw Feuilly give him a smile. The time was right. He took a breath and stood up, leaving his cloak on the table; his hair shone like spun gold in the torchlight and like a single man the tavern fell silent.

The Golden Gaul was to speak.

\- Friends. I shall be brief. In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger, The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavour will light our country and all who serve it, and the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

There were murmurs at that, raised goblets and comments. But Enjolras continued, feeling the passion that he had reach out and touch those who listened. His fire would feed their flickering light, he had flames enough for all.

\- My friends, I take courage when I see those who are here. I determine to forget all my other fears, and I desire to march forward with a firm step in the full assurance that my cause will bear me out. Will we be brothers now and forever? Will we see an end to the inequalities that plague us? I bear witness, now and before the gods if they do listen, and I say that Justicia in all her glory must strike me down before I forget my cause. I will die before I allow slavery to endure! And I ask of you, my friends, only your courage and your faith, and together we shall overcome!

 

*

The uproar and the applause had hardly died down when he returned to his seat, eyes shining brightly. Feuilly simply handed him a cup of wine as he sat down, his own eyes bright as stars.

\- You were magnificent. You have not changed in all these years, I still vibrate at your words.

\- Gratitude, from you that is more compliment and encouragement than I deserve. And it warms me to see so many new faces here this night. Word gets around the streets as fast as a cat.

\- Faster, even. With the right friends. And here, I'd like you

make introduction. Joly and Lesgles are from the east of Lutetia, they have heard much about you.

Enjolras gave a small nod at the two new faces, noting the hunger in their eyes and the marks of a life hard lived. The same hunger and marks that he saw all around him, the same hunger and marks that united all those he wished to free. And to see them, Roman and Numidian drinking and smiling, it gave him hope. Hope that the future he strived for would become reality.

\- Greetings, friends. And gratitude to you also, for risking health and life to hear my words. I have no doubt as to what the praetorian guards would make of such a meeting.

Lesgles smiled and lifted his goblet.

\- Fortuna will decide. Your words would be like water to a parched man.

\- But also like venom to the hesitant. I will fight for the future I wish for, and I will fight alone or with companions.

\- Alone, you have no chance.

\- I will accept that. But will you stand by me, you both? Feuilly has accepted to be my companion, as he was all those years ago, before we were lost to view. And I search for others to be my friends, my right hands, those I would trust with my life. Will you count yourselves among them?

Joly had remained silent, but at that he lifted his gaze from the assembled people. His eyes were troubled and he came to stand near Lesgles, arm coming to rest on his.

\- Apologies, but we do not know you. You speak of rebellion and of death, of victory against those who oppress you. You speak of uprising against the Romans and all forms of things that would only please and inflame those who will listen. But you speak little of the risks, and yet we all know them.

\- There is not a single thing of worth that isn't won without risks. But I understand your reluctance. You are Roman, after all. You have too much to lose.

\- Being Roman has nothing to do with it. Unless you speak like those you wish to overthrow, unless you speak with prejudice. And in that case, we have nothing more to say to each-other. Goodnight.

Joly stood up and took to the door, his limp growing more pronounced as it always did when he was agitated, worried or angry. In this case, Lesgles knew perfectly well that his lover was feeling all three, and went straight to him.

\- Peace, dear heart.

\- Come, we should leave. I wish to see how 'Chetta is feeling, I do not believe she should be left alone.

\- Then we shall go to her at once.

 

*

Both men left the noise of the tavern, and Feuilly gave a sigh while patting Enjolras on the arm. With a wry grin, Bahorel took a swig of ale and snorted from where he was sitting. So the golden god wasn't all perfect...

\- You certainly seem to have a god's gift of saying the wrong things, certainly. With a silver tongue like yours, I can only imagine how you came to leave Lutetia.

\- I left for many reasons.

\- Insulting those who come to offer their support perhaps? You shall gain no popularity with such methods. Perhaps you should stick to rallying cries and broad ideas and leave the actual speaking to people to others?

Enjolras actually looked shamed, to Bahorel's great delight, but Feuilly gave him a little punch on the arm, his eyes hinting at near-fond annoyance.

\- Come, you bear, we must be on our way also. Have you forgotten what we are to do?

\- Of course not, but can it not wait for us to finish our beer? It isn't exactly the best, but I do like to finish my goblet.

Of course, once Feuilly gave him that look he was so good at, Bahorel had absolutely no choice. He drained his goblet, gave a last almost challenging look at Enjolras, and walked out. For one last good measure, he made sure to put his arm around the red-head’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Bahorel coming over too Grantaire-ish? I suppose since our resident cynic isn't in the story yet, he has to fill the void...


	11. Hic abundant leones

One of the greatest and most important places in the city, apart from the forum and the bath-house, was the arena. Although not as majestic as the great Colisseum of Rome, Lutetia had no reason to blush for it. It was a place of excitement and death, the sand covered in blood after every fight. It was the most violent place in the whole city, and the one to which people came in droves for the games. And even when gladiators weren't fighting wild animals, or each-other, the plebeians flocked to try and glimpse training sessions. The magic was abundant here : gladiator sweat was a powerful aphrodisiac, their blood was a good-luck charm, and a night spent in their arms would guarantee fertility and prosperity. Unlike in Rome, the training barracks were right next to the area, so it was a public spectacle each time. Some rich lady could easily buy a night with a gladiator, the rules weren't so strict as elsewhere.

Feuilly and Bahorel were just two other faces in the throng, but they were here on another mission than to make eyes at the muscular men training in the arena. They were here to find a man, one Bahorel had heard often spoken of at the arena in Nemausus. A prodigy, a fighter beyond compare, one who had raged at his masters for as long as he drew breath; such were the words used to speak of this gladiator, and Bahorel had no doubt that he would be a valuable asset to this fledgling rebellion.

Because this was what he was actually doing. He was actively taking part in a revolt. It was terrifying, and he was extremely loathe to trust the Golden Gaul's words (for so many reasons) but deep down, he knew that he was right. The common people had been trodden upon, used and neglected for too long. And if this was to end in blood, then by the gods, he would be the first to take up the sword. And by the same gods, he would defend his lover until his last breath.

Lover who was – at this very moment – looking through the crowd towards the arena, where some gladiators were training under the hot sun. Oh they were a tough crowd, that was certain. They may only have been training with wooden swords, Bahorel knew very well the pain that could come from a well-executed blow.

\- Look how they dodge the blade, and they are right to do so. A good whack can break bone as easily as a true sword.

\- They certainly are impressive. Ready to die for the pleasure of all these people. Romans believe that they are better than everyone else, but this...this is just...wrong. I have never understood why blood excites them so much.

\- The arena is a sacred place. It is blood and sand, and there, in the thrill of the fight, you truly feel alive.

\- Until you end with a blade under your throat!

He noticed Feuilly's outburst and held out his hand palm upward, before the redhead sighed.

\- Apologies, I do not take my frustrations out on you, my bear. I simply cannot understand this world that would enjoy the suffering of others. The gods cannot be as cruel as men.

\- Do you not fear their wrath?

\- They have given me red hair and a deep love for cock. I think they have punished me enough.

He was smiling now, giving Bahorel a friendly punch.

\- Come, let us find this famous gladiator.

 

*

 

Near the fountain, in as much shade as he could find, the heavily-scarred, green-eyed Illyrian watched the fighting without ever saying a word. There were no moves he cared to share, and the good humour present between the gladiator brothers was something he could not stand. It was just a pretence, a wall against the crushing fear and despair. And if they were all going to die, then he would much rather die alone. It was easier when there was no-one left behind, after all.

There was a movement to his left, but he didn't even bother to turn around when the burly, heavy-set man began to speak.

\- You must be R. I've heard about you in Nemausus, when I was in the arena.

\- And? What do I care about what some asshole in Nemausus said about me? Leave me alone.

\- Exactly what he said! A face like a whore's ass and the temper to match! But we come not for fucking or bandying words, we come with a proposition.

R gave a grunt and rolled his eyes. This was not usual, to say the least, unless it was a new approach to satisfy a sexual urge. Hardly anything would surprise him now.

\- I have no interest in you, nor what you come saying.

\- Even if I said that our words come from one who would save us all?

The smile that R gave was hardly one of sympathy, eye to eye with the self-proclaimed arena fighter. Shone there idealism? Hope? What a fool.

\- Save us all? In truth that must be the pinnacle of stupidity. Who could pretend to wish to care for anyone save for themselves? Even the gods do not, so how could we? So much hubris... Oh, I know well who your words come from.

\- Do you now?

It was the other who spoke, the redhead who definitely didn't look like a gladiator. A slave, maybe, but without the visible brand it was hard to tell. The only thing that was certain was that he was the kind of man to know what he wanted and to have it. A man who had never felt bones break or the pain of hunger. R had enough of the man already.

\- You think that because I am kept behind bars like an animal, I do not hear what the city says? Let me tell you right now that if you come with words from this “Golden Gaul” on your tongue, then leave. I have no interest in dying before my time, especially for him.

\- Being a slave is already dying before your time, or can you not see that?

\- And you speak from your great experience, I have no doubt. Both of you, with your honeyed words that will only taste of poison, and your noble ideas that will end in ash. I know I will die in the arena, but at least I will die on my terms, instead of blindly following a man come from nowhere who believes he is a fucking god.

\- He brings hope!

\- He brings fuck all. He brings poison and ash. Now fuck off.

  
*

 

Bahorel didn't wait to be out of sight of the arena before punching the closest wall, not even wincing at the pain.

\- Hera's tits, that was useless!

\- Calm yourself, it isn't your fault. You could not have known that he wouldn't accept at the first chance. And his views are widely shared, not everyone is going to embrace the idea of freedom when there is such a high risk.

Bahorel sighed and rubbed his face, fingers scratching over his scruffy beard.

\- I am not entirely certain I do either.

\- Bahorel...

\- I might be a fool, and a fucking jealous one at that, but even I can see that hoping to sway the entire slave population of Lutetia against their _domini_ is a fool's idea. But I will follow him, you know that. If only to be near you.

\- You are speaking with Aphrodite's soft words today, my bear.

\- Tease me and I will leave you here in the middle of the throng and let you come home alone, rascal.

\- As if you could ever leave me alone. Come, we will try again with your gladiator, fret not. But first, I say we finish the evening with a good drink.

 

Saying thus, Feuilly pushed Bahorel into a side-street and started up towards a brightly-lit tavern full of laughter. Neither saw the shadows that started behind them, before hurrying away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was a pain to get out, so sorry for the wait.  
> So we finally introduce R, the resident asshole. Trying to make him not 100% sympathetic, but we'll see how he evolves. Also, stay tuned for the next chapter, the last main characters will (finally, good god, finally) make an appearence!
> 
> R&R as ever  
> <3


	12. Hic et nunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get to this chapter for a while, and here we are!   
> Feel free to throw feelings and rotten eggs at me for this :)

The brothel known as the Gilded Aphrodite was situated in a busy street in one of the less-inhospitable parts of Lutetia. Here, there were no drunkards in the streets or rough soldiers looking to force a girl or a boy into a dark corner. Here only men and women of repute walked the streets, and those who wished an evening's distraction had to present themselves with coin in quantity.

At least here, the whores were clean. Dressed in fine silks, with gold and ruby paint on their eyelids, lips and nipples, they lounged in luxury in their private rooms, waiting for a senator or a praetor to buy their time and their body. They couldn’t refuse – how could they? – but they knew that they were a thousand times better off than the other unfortunates who sold themselves.And amid the sighs and moans that infused the air of the brothel, there was a room that was silent and calm, but not from absence of occupant.

They were sated, love-heavy and relaxed, lying together on the bed, fingers and legs entwined on the crumpled sheets. The world no longer existed, it was just them. Until a loud noise in another room startled them both out of their torpor.

\- Σάλτα και γαμήσου...!

\- My love...

\- Can they not shut their mouths for a single fucking second?

\- My love, we cannot say that we were the most discreet of them all.

With a smile, Jehan wrapped his arms around the other man's waist and kissed him softly, as softly as he had always done. His lover needed – deserved – softness.

\- We cannot say that, can we?

\- But it is different when it is us, beloved. The world should never intrude on us, when we see each-other so little. How dare they disturb the few moments of rest that we have.

\- I know 'Parnasse...

Yes, he knew all too well He knew it and he hated each and every second when he was separated from his love, and yet he couldn't do otherwise. He would never be able to free Montparnasse from this life, he knew it. A whore was just an object, a possession, a way for his owner to grow rich on the misery of others. And behind his make-up, his beauty and his careless attitude, Montparnasse was nothing more than an object in misery. And he did all he could to never show anyone that side of him.

Except Jehan.

Because Jehan had seen every side of him. And when Jehan fell into his moods, Montparnasse had apparently made it his life-blood to rouse him out of them with a comforting gesture.

Gesture that came in a matter of seconds, a long, sensuous kiss just at the base of Jehan's neck, hands that wrapped themselves in Jehan's fire-kissed hair, and a murmur.

\- Stop thinking so darkly, child.

\- You would "child" me? You might be younger than I.

\- Maybe, who knows. But what does that matter? You are here, I am here, and the hour is not over yet. Do you still have energy enough to partake once again in what you purchased?

His tone of voice belied what the words could contain, and he kissed Jehan again, the red that remained on his lips smeared itself over Jehan’s, and he smiled at the way the young man blushed. No matter how many times they fucked, it was almost like the first time. Although Jehan hated that word. As he had said, there was nothing beautiful in fucking, and he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than holding Montparnasse in his arms. So they didn’t fuck. They made love.

Tenderly, urgently, as if they had all the time in the world but at the same time they knew their time was counted. As before, Montparnasse kept his eyes open as he let Jehan in, keeping the vision of russet curls falling like water over his lover’s face. If he were to lose sight the next moment, he would have no regrets. Each time Jehan thrust, he let out a trembling moan, urging him to keep moving.

Together they moved, the bed creaking under their passion. Soon would come the knock on the door that would signal the end of their time together. Soon Montparnasse would watch Jehan dress and leave, and would wait for the next time they would be together. But that was later.

\- Je...Jehan….

\- Here, my love. Can you feel me?

A thrust harder than the others and Montparnasse dug his face in the sheets, leaving gold and scarlet traces as he cried out, coming once more.

*

When the knock came at the door, he didn’t move, willing his owner to the furthest reaches of the underworld.

\- Fuck off, Lucillus!

\- Shut your whore-mouth, you Grecian slut. Your arse is paid for again and well paid, so make willing and ready! Five minutes!

\- I will not!

But the brothel-owner had already disappeared from behind the door, and all the insults Montparnasse could throw were useless. So instead he sighed and got off the bed. Apologies were useless, both knew that there was no other choice, and Jehan came to him, holding out the small pots of cosmetics.

\- Let me help you?

\- My love, you should go.

\- I should, yes. But I do not remember the last time I did something that I “should” have done.

As he spoke, Jehan had taken combs and ointments. Brushing back Montparnasse’s dark hair, he smiled and began reapplying the gilded paint. His heart felt like lead but this was the least he could do. Khol-black eyes, golden lips and cheeks as rosy as a young girls’, there was none who could have resisted him. And how his heart sank once more. Like each time.

\- My love… I will be back soon.

\- I know. But Jehan –

\- I swear it by the gods, ‘Parnasse… I will never desert you. We will be together forever.

\- Jehan, you must go now. I would not have you here when the time comes. Please, εραστής …

Regretfully, but with understanding, Jehan nodded and threw on his toga. There were already footsteps in the corridor, it was time to leave. So he stole a last kiss, tasting the prickle of the gold on his skin, and like a vision, he was gone.

Montparnasse placed back the mask he wore each day, waiting for the door to open and for his next client to come. With luck, this one would fuck him once, twice maybe, and then fall asleep like a pig on the bed and leave him alone for the rest of the hour. Then he would sleep, and his dreams would be populated with Jehan’s green-blue eyes and, gods willing, he would forget.

Just as long as they didn’t include the man who was standing in the doorway. Just the smell of the man was enough to pierce through the perfumed veil of the room and shivers of disgust coursed up and down his back.

\- Thenardier…

\- My love.

The word was insult from such a man, and Montparnasse closed his eyes again, letting Thenardier push him back down on the bed.


	13. Ad altiora tendo

The wind was mercifully cool on Montparnasse's skin as he leaned out of the tiny window, the fumes of opium swirling out of the room; Thenardier had gone after a mercifully short tryst, leaving him with bruises on his thighs and a thick, sticky taste in the back of his throat. At least the drugs would dampen the memories but he would soon run out, he needed his friends to come back in haste.

And as if they had heard his wish, three shapes moved from the shadows of the early morning and leant against the wall.

\- Pleasant evening, Montparnasse?

-Fuck you.

\- I would, but alas, I am poor in coin.

It was but a usual greeting, none had any malicious intent. Instead, one of the shadows held out a small pouch which Montparnasse took without hesitation.

\- How much?

\- Three _denarii_. Gueulemer found a villa and Claquesous distracted what guard there was, but we kept the rest for bread and cheese.

\- Gratitude Babet. I know not how long this will continue, but I pray to Hermes that it shall not take much longer.

\- Your Hermes and our Mercury can only do so much, we must do the rest. What coin do we have?

\- Still not enough. _Γαμώτο_ ! I do not ask for the sun!

The masked shadow to the right of the small group gave a smile and cocked his head.

\- And your secret lover brings you nothing?

 

Montparnasse lifted his hand in supplication, knowing how his companions felt about the situation. With him locked in his whore-house and they thieving as they could to survive, it was hardly Elysium. They had to look out for each-other, or else they would never manage.

And the addition of Jehan in their lives brought nothing save risk.

\- Peace, 'Sous. He brings what he can, but I have told him nothing of my plan. He would only seek to hasten things and from there make them worse. His tongue cannot lie and his eyes hide nothing.

\- And he fucks like a god, yes, we know the story. So you haven't told him that you plan to escape back to the vineyards of the Peloponnese...

\- Peace, I said. My friends...

Better he leave the subject alone than risk more scrutiny under Claquesous' unflinching gaze. He would not risk Jehan into anything, he loved him too well for that.

\- How fares Azelma?

\- Fear not, we have the little bird safe. She eats and she sleeps, and her wounds heal. Eponine visits often, if that was your next question. But it has been weeks, and we are not wet-nurses, Montparnasse. I know not why we do this.

\- I owe Eponine many debts, debts I wish to be cleared of before we return to Greece. Keeping her sister safe is one of the ways in which debt shall be repaid. You found a medicus willing to treat Azelma, then?

Babet came back into the light, chewing on the piece of bread he had saved for himself.

\- We did. But we must leave, time is short. We will soon have the coin we need and then we can fuck off away from here. We grow weary of all this piss and shit.

\- And I do not? I live for the day where I beat Lucillus' face into dog-shit and leave him for the fucking crows. So peace, my friends, peace. Home with you and we shall meet again soon. And again, gratitude to you.

They melted back into shadow and left him alone. There was no pity here, merely hunger for life and freedom, and he thanked his gods for that. He thanked them every night for other things, those things hidden under the threadbare mattress of his bedding. He felt them each time he lay down, be it by himself or with another, and it was fuel to the fire of his soul. Who would think to search the sparce rooms of a whore for coin?

Fifty-three silver _denarii_ , ten _aurei_ and a large handful of _sestertii_ , there was the limit of his fortune. It had taken two years to obtain such meagre treasure, and it would hardly get him to Greece. Much less the four of them. Or five...

Or five, would Jehan even want to follow him? A penniless whore was little thought the ideal mate. Leaving with him would render the young noble an exile, with nothing to survive on save wit, thievery, or whoring. Aimlessly, he counted the coins again and again, as if by sorcery they would multiply. He had not foreseen that he would had fallen in love.

Alone and with only his three companions of misfortune, he could imagine leaving at any second. Coin would matter not, they could steal and murder their way to calmer waters. But with Jehan...

 

\- I knew you were a two-faced bitch of a whore, but the gods strike me down if you're not a cock-sucking thief also.

Thenardier stood in the doorway, a cruel smile on his face. The fumes of the opium had muddled Montparnasse's mind, leaving him deaf and blind to all but his thoughts, and he had not heard the door open. This was the worst thing that could have happened.

\- _Σάλτα και γαμήσου !_

\- I care not. Now surrender coin or lose life.

\- I would sooner fuck a goat!

\- Continue refusing me and it shall be arranged. Now surrender coin! One less whore in Lutetia will gain no notice, no tears will be shed for you.

\- You would kill for such small reward?

Even as the words left his mouth, the answer was obvious. He was nothing in this society, Thenardier could leave him bleeding on the floor and not suffer reproach. His life was worth less than that of a mule, and in that instant all sense left him. He would not stay another second in this putrid hole, selling his body and keeping his mouth shut. He would leave, no matter how little coin he possessed, and leave for Greece without delay. Maybe Jehan would forgive him. He may have been unarmed, but pure anger filled him like poured from Zeus' own cup, and he easily avoided the first dagger-swipe.

The noise would alert Lucillus, would alert all those who lived here, and that was risk too great to court. The matter had to be settled in the instant. So he grabbed the pouch which held his fortune and struck, hissing like a cat and hitting Thenardier's face like a thunderbolt.

The man screamed, the blood from his shattered nose streaming down his face, and fell on the floor with insults to rival a seasoned soldier's. Then he hit the side of the stone bed and fell silent. Footsteps from outside meant that others had been alerted already, his chance of escape was thinning. Without hesitation, Montparnasse fled through the door, purse in one hand and the rags that were his clothes in the other. He couldn't hesitate, he had no choice, and every step closer to the street was a step closer to freedom. Something he had not tasted in two years. His heart was racing like a drum as he reached out, but he was pulled back, hands catching his arms. Screaming in frustration, he was dragged back into the brothel and closed his eyes against the rain of blows that fell upon him. He tried to fight back but it was useless. They were too many in number and he was too weak, even in his furious state.

He could hear the shouting, the panic, the outrage. A fist caught him on the side of his face and he fell limp, ears ringing, and he knew nothingness.

 

*

They dragged him out without care nor thought, and threw his senseless body into the arms of the soldiers who had come to investigate the disturbance. The pouch of coin disappeared.


	14. Quo fata ferunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry, this took forever and I'm not that happy with it, but look! Our favourite booby gets screen-time, and the plot thickens!

Marius could barely breathe, seated as he was in Fantine's garden, under the colonnades of white marble, from which tapered vines and oleander. The early evening cool brought the scent of roses and lilac, and with the crystal noise of the fish-pond, he felt that Eleysium itself would pale next to this. Especially as in front of him, Euphrasie was smiling softly, her eyes shining like the very stars. Words weren't necessary, he was certain of this. He could have whole conversations with Euphrasie simply by sitting near her and she with him. 

And Fantine was content to weave her daughter's wedding dress  under the light of the flickering torches,  leaving the quiet of the gardens to her amorous child. Children, even. For Marius had quickly come to take the place of the second child she had never had. And even were he not from a noble family, she would have asked the gods to bless this union for few such  young men  had his kindness. 

(or his awkwardness, but that only served to deepen Fantine's affection towards her daughter's choice)

She had so many hopes for her child, so many dreams, and here at last perhaps she would be able to put all her fears to rest. The last thing she wanted was for Euphrasie to  fall into the same trap she had. No man would chain her, no man would cause pain or sorrow, and no man would take his wont and then abandon her, that she had swore on Hecate's shrine.

  


A disturbance in the house roused her, and she walked into the  _atrium_ ,  ready to  throw displeasure and insult at  whoever came at such late hour. But as she recognised the  figure standing in the doorway, her veil of anger lifted.

\- You  could not wait  for  morning's light to visit me,  Valjean ?

\- I have only  come to see how it fares with you. I feel tension in the city tonight.

The man  came out of the shadows and into the torchlight,  his face one of wisdom bought in years. And Fantine knew exactly all that those years had treated her friend cruelly. He had belonged to her father's household, a steadfast and loyal presence who had dispensed knowledge to little Fantine. After twenty years servitude, the  _paterfamilias_ had announced that Valjean was to be freed,  and the  _manumissio_ ceremony had been carried out. 

Thus, with a gesture and a word, Valjean had been freed.  But he had never forgotten the family that had shown him such kindness.  He was as a silent shade, keeping them from harm, and Fantine did not hesitate  to bring him  to the couches and offer him watered wine.

\- There is always tension in Lutetia, Valjean. It comes with the heat, and it will leave with the first colours of autumn. Once the  _armilustrium_ is held on the  _castor praetoria_ , and the October horse sacrificed, their hearts will cool.

\- It is different this time, Fantine.  I can feel it, can you not?

\-  What frightens you, my friend?

\- There is unrest in the city. The slaves are talking about this one god-born man, this Golden Gaul who seeks to rise up against the nobles and free the city. Have you not heard of this?

Fantine nodded, pouring a little more watered wine into their goblets. 

\- I have.  But you, have you seen him? This Golden Gaul?

\- I have. He is a child still but many people run to hear his words.  The slaves, the workers, even certain gladiators speak of him in secret.

\-  The  _praetoria_ will catch him, like they have all the others,  especially if he is as outspoken as you say.  If he gains the ear of many, there will be riots and battles, and the streets shall become unsafe to walk.  They will catch him, a nd I pray for it to happen soon.

Valjean  raised an eyebrow;  such speech was strange in a woman of such noble heart. But she had a child to protect, and  in such situations, mothers became alike to  leopards. He did not press the issue, not wanting to disturb his friend  more than she was, and soon the conversation moved to more pleasant subjects. 

  
*

 

Under the vines,  Marius  looked over at where his future mother-in-law sat in conversation with the stranger, and smiled. 

\- It warms my heart to see  y our beloved mother will not be alone when we shall settle in our own home.

\- She never was alone and never will be. Do you suggest that we simply vanish and leave her to her own devices? Marius, for shame.

\- I speak not out of turn, do not think this of me. She is my mother also, not a day shall pass without me at her door.

\- Perhaps a two-day, else she might accuse you of preferring her cooking to mine.

They both shared a bright smile and nearly-stifled laughter, before Marius turned once again to the two figures under the torches.

\- Who is the man? He has the looks of a soldier, but he bears not the mark of the legion.

\- Valjean used to be a house-slave, but  was freed before  I was born. He is mother's protector and friend, do not believe otherwise, no matter what is said. People fear and hate my mother for not being the perfect Roman woman that they would accuse her of all just to see her shamed.

\- I would never. And if Fate has given her such a friend, then I thank the gods. He lives in Lutetia?

\- No, he has an estate near the border of He l vetia, surrounded by mou n tains as I am told. But he is never long without returning  here. I am glad of his presence at this moment, in truth. The  feel of the city is as if grasped by Ares' iron fist and it scares me.

Euphrasie touched Marius' shoulder and nodded.

\- I see from your face that you did not expect me to know what is happening outside, and truth is that my mother is doing all she can to shield me from it all, but I am not foolish child. I too have heard the song of revolt and the  existence of this child of the gods.  His words are seductive, are they not? Have you heard him speak?

\- No, I have not.

\- Then we shall have to find him ourselves, and listen.

\- I cannot take you there, I cannot take you through the streets! I do not say that you are like a glass doll, too fragile to face truth, but I cannot allow danger to find you.

\- I willingly face truth in all it's forms. Take me to him, Marius? When next he speaks, I will listen to him.


End file.
